


Touch

by Aroihkin



Series: Veilfire Bones [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aroihkin/pseuds/Aroihkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening full of care between Lavellan and Solas after returning from a particularly tiresome outing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> **Original prompt:** [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12449.html?thread=48467105#t48467105).

"Come on," the Inquisitor's voice stirred Solas out of his exhausted mental slump, and his eyes opened, focusing on the warrior in the doorway to the great hall. For a few startled, horrified seconds, he worried -- irrationally -- that she intended to drag him out on yet _more_ work away from Skyhold.

But no, they'd _just_ gotten back, and Alleyana was nothing if not practical about such matters. He blinked slowly as her actual words sank in, curiosity stirring. 'Come on'? "Pardon me?"

"I want to do something for you," her words were stiff, awkward, her ruined voice grating over them even harder than normal; a sign that she was nearly as tired as he was. "Come on."

His curiosity sharpened at her beckoning gesture, and he shook off the weight of his exhaustion just enough to climb slowly out of his chair, trying not to wince at how sore he felt. While here in Skyhold he could wear whatever he chose, the Inquisitor had insisted on shoving boots at him during their last outing, and the experience had hardly been pleasant. But... she'd been correct, all the same; sharp stone slicing into his feet, slick with swamp slime and the rotting, foul remnants of the undead, would have been even _less_ pleasant. The infection he could have gotten from that, even less so. It had been a hard point to argue against, indeed.

Solas followed her when the Inquisitor turned to lead the way, her pace thankfully no quicker than his own. Out into the great hall they trudged, passing gossiping nobles and soldiers alike, and -- he repressed a dismayed sound -- to the beginning of _all_ the stairs in the tower that held her quarters. His calves were nearly as sore as his feet, after compensating for the odd footing in the swamp. Climbing back down again later was sure to be a joy and a half.

She seemed to think the same thing as they trudged up the steps, because she offered -- haltingly, awkwardly; "You can stay up here tonight, if you want."

"Are you certain?" he couldn't help but ask, surprised at her words. They were... something, now, although neither of them seemed quite sure _what_ that something was. My heart, he'd called her. Her oasis, she'd called him. Their lips had met a half dozen times now, and yet still... "There will be talk of it, if I do."

"There's talk," Alleyana snorted softly, derisive. He had to admit, she had a point; no matter what they did, or didn't do, the talk would run off onto its own narrative at the same pace. "...Anyway, there's tons of room. The whole of clan Lavellan could all sleep up there and we wouldn't even be tripping over each other. I don't understand it. We didn't even have a proper infirmary at first, but they gave me this much space. Me. I'm used to a bedroll under the stars, at most."

"It was for appearances, of course," Solas replied, slowing further in the climb. "We could hardly have visiting nobility tripping over you as you slept in the mud in the courtyard."

The warrior snorted again, but this time with her own form of dry, wry humor, and shoved open the final door before her quarters proper. She paused and held it open for him as Solas hobbled after her. Just one more short flight, and he could sit back down again, surely.

"...I don't see why not," Alleyana continued, after waving him in ahead of her, following in his slow, weary footsteps now, "they already expect me to be sleeping in the stable with the mounts. I'm one of those _scary feral Dalish_ elves, you know. Tracking mud everywhere, chewing on the draperies, jumping on the furniture, howling at the moon..." her ruined voice dropped into a conspiratorial semi-whisper, imitating a gossip, "'Thank the Maker there are no children here, she'd _eat_ them.'"

Solas merely shook his head, settling quickly onto the sofa that stood conveniently at the top of the stairs, immediately relieved with his weight off his legs. There was several short stacks of books taking up the other end of the couch, but his curiosity was captured first by the deep clay basin of steaming hot water that sat a few feet away. 

It wasn't until she'd dragged the basin over to him that he realized her intent, although he was too stunned to react at first, merely staring over and down at her in silence. When she knelt _down_ in front of him, Solas finally sucked in a sharp, startled breath and leaned forward to put his hands on hers, stilling her efforts at removing her own gauntlets from her damaged, crooked fingers. "What are you doing?"

"I said I want to do something for you," Alleyana pointed out, her brow furrowing a little as she looked up at him, going still. "Is something wrong?"

"I-- it is--" Solas found himself at a loss for words, for once. He was having a hard time even formulating the truth in his head, let alone the half-truth he could barely afford to give her. After all, Solas knew full well that she was no servant or slave; this was her idea entirely, and their dynamic was _far_ removed from what this reminded him of. So why did it bother him?

"...Help me get these gauntlets off," the warrior huffed after his silence stretched on for a while, and he realized he'd been staring down at her all the while, his eyes wide and lips parted, hands still on hers. Her cheeks had colored a little darker, under all the scars and the paler lines of her vallaslin; self-conscious under his stunned gawking.

When Alley held up her hands a little higher, pressing up beneath his own, he couldn't help but see it -- for a single, wrenching moment -- as the gesture it _could_ have been, were the time and circumstances different; that of prayer, of supplication. He froze, and then shook it off, fumbling with suddenly-clumsy fingers at the buckles that held her gauntlets strapped firmly to the thinner, softer leather gloves always covering her hands. If he focused only on the task, perhaps...

"You look absolutely haunted," her rough voice was gentled by concern. For him, whose feet she knelt down before. Solas clenched his eyes shut for a moment, but they shot back open when she twisted her wrists to carefully take hold of his hands in her armored ones, the touch as delicate as ever. She _always_ treated his body like he was spun from thin, delicate glass. She was like that with everyone, on those rare times she initiated contact. To the Inquisitor, a champion who could take a direct hit from a high dragon without stumbling, perhaps everyone _was_ that frail. Brittle bones, sharp and fragile beneath thin veins and delicate skin...

He certainly felt a bit fragile right now, if not for the reasons she might think. "Something's definitely very wrong," she continued, expression twisting with worry. "Solas, what is it?"

"It isn't _right_ ," he whispered, and he could feel as much as see when she went perfectly still. "Not _you_ ," Solas was quick to add, aware of where her thoughts surely went. " _This._ You, kneeling at my feet--!" It sounded absolutely foolish, out loud; he couldn't tell her the full truth. He couldn't tell her what it had always meant when someone, marked as she was, knelt down before him and those like him. To explain that would be to explain everything, and he just... couldn't. Not yet. He was a coward.

"I don't understand," Alleyana tilted her head slightly to one side, watching him as intently as though he was the only real thing in the world. That wasn't abnormal, at least; she often studied him just as carefully as she did now. In truth, she did that to everyone, but he was the one whose company she sought after the most, often quite content to just sit quietly with him while he worked or painted. She studied anything that caught her interest, and he had certainly done that.

"...Ar abelas, Solas," he realized he'd remained silent when the warrior took her hands from his. It was only to push the basin just a little to one side, and then her hands returned, tugging him down onto the carpet with her. He slid willingly off the edge of the couch and onto his knees with her, head bowed, relieved at having that perceived imbalance between them broken.

It must have shown on his face, or what she could see of it with his head down like it was. She placed careful -- always careful! -- gauntleted hands against the sides of his head, cupping his face, and she nudged his head up just enough to place a chaste kiss against his forehead. Her head rested against his, after. "I didn't mean to upset you," Alleyana murmured, her ruined voice barely grating over the words at this low, soft volume. "I'm sorry."

Of course she was blaming herself for his reaction. Solas shook his head and rocked back onto his heels, easing himself down to sit on the carpet properly, his back against the front of the couch. "It was not your fault, vhenan," he caught her armored hands in his, and drew her closer again. "I apologize for my reaction."

"Don't," Alleyana shifted closer as he wished, but remained up on her knees, instead of sitting down beside him as he'd hoped. Still, on her knees in this context, she all but loomed over him; that was acceptable. Solas stroked his thumbs over the intricate plates covering her fingers, careful not to catch on the sharp edges and cut himself. She'd be upset, if he did. "You've seen me melt down, Solas. I understand. Sometimes... it just happens. The wrong scent, the wrong sound, and the world just turns sideways. Sometimes we know why, and sometimes we don't. It _happens_."

She was likening his response to that of _trauma_. The idea that he was traumatized over being worshiped as a god... it made him want to laugh at himself, but he didn't. That would have been just as hard to explain as the rest, and so he bit the response down and raised one of her armored hands to his mouth, kissing the plates on the backs of her fingers. If his lips were slightly unsteady, she was unlikely to notice through her gauntlet. "I am better now, ma vhenan."

"Do you know what it was," Alleyana asked, "so I don't do it again?"

"Kneeling at my feet," he said softly, shutting his eyes, "it felt... subservient of you to do that."

"Oh," the Inquisitor sounded faintly surprised, like she hadn't even considered such a thing. Of course she hadn't; she _wasn't_ a slave, despite the vallaslin branded into her skin. "I... wouldn't care, honestly; if anyone in all of Thedas has ever earned my servitude, it's you. But," she was quick to interject when his eyes shot open, staring at her scarred, honest face. His expression must have been as troubled as he felt, because her next words came fast and earnest, "I understand it wasn't about what _I_ thought, it's how you felt about it. It's _okay_." The hand he still held up to his mouth squeezed, just a little bit around his fingers.

She was forever surprising him with the nuance of her thoughts; how very little true black and white she seemed to perceive in any given situation. Now was no exception, and Solas felt some of the remaining tension drain from his brow and neck. He turned his head a little to rest his cheek against her captured hand. "Thank you," he said quietly, sincerely.

They stayed like that for a while in silence, while he slowly came down from... whatever that had been, gradually relaxing. For all that Alleyana claimed to only be good for combat, she was quite insightful, and it seemed she was endlessly patient, the warrior not so much as twitching despite her kneeling pose surely not being very comfortable. Solas could feel her watching him, studying him, as she so often did.

"...What _was_ your intent, vhenan?" he asked finally, after some time had passed. Solas lifted his head from her armored hand, but didn't release it. Instead, he resume work on loosening the straps that held the gauntlet in place. This time, his fingers were a great deal less numb, and his mind in a great deal less turmoil, and the process was thus far smoother. He had the gauntlet fully opened, and was reaching for her other hand, before she even had the chance to respond.

"Well, you know what I did to your back a while ago," Alleyana shook off the loosened gauntlet, letting the heavy armor hit the carpet with a dull thump and rattle. The thinner, softer glove she wore under the armor didn't budge, of course, practically a second skin. "I can do even better to your feet. And I figured while I was at it, hot water is nice, right? Washing someone's feet isn't odd, among the Dalish. It's just... something you _do_ for someone you like. It's not servitude, it's... care. Or so I was told."

"Or so you were told?" Solas tugged her other gauntlet off, once loosened, and set it beside the other on the floor. He didn't release her hand, however, holding it gently, fingertips prodding against the soft leather of her glove, curious but not about to push it. He'd only seen her bare-handed when he'd been in charge of her life, right after the conclave, and almost all of his focus had been on the Anchor, back then. Frantically working to keep her alive, knowing full well that the Anchor was their best chance of closing the breach, and that if it killed its bearer they were most likely all doomed.

Back then, the crooked and long-broken shape of her fingers had barely registered as background noise to him, the texture of scar-tissue even less than that. Now, it was of much more interest. With the bulky, armored plates out of the way, the warped, too-tight shape of her hands was more obvious, if not as much as it would have been with her skin laid bare. But, he understood the importance of her gloves; he wouldn't strip the soft leather away without permission, any more than he would take off the rest of her armor and clothing.

"I never... got that close to anyone in the clan," Alleyana said quietly, sounding distracted. The fingers of her captured hand twitched, just a little, in his grip. But, she wasn't trying to take her hand back, and so he didn't release it.

"Really?" Solas was distracted for the moment, and perhaps just the slightest bit offended on her behalf. The Dalish really were idiots, if not a single one of them had gotten close to her. "And why not?" he asked, the offense leaking into his voice.

The warrior gazed at him in that particular, flat way that told him much of the answer. She clearly thought he was mocking her, even now... after all they'd said and done. The answer was so patently obvious to her own mind, that she could barely conceive of him not seeing it.

...When he simply waited for an answer anyway, not looking away, her expression softened a little and then _she_ looked away from _him_. "I frighten people," she said quietly, "the way I move, the way I look. The way I fight... even the ones who respect that last bit, it scares them. It was like that in Denerim, too, and then it was like that with the Dalish. Maybe even more. What happened in Denerim, it... sharpened me even more."

"Ma emma lath," he raised her captured hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to her bent and crooked fingers through the soft glove.

"You're an exception," she agreed softly, eyes downcast. "Someday, you'll learn."

"I would say the same of you," Solas' reply was just as quiet. A grim silence settled over them both for a moment before he decided that neither of them should dwell on that point. "So, you wished to do this out of... care."

"I want..." Alleyana hesitated, and then let out a slightly frustrated sigh, "it's stupid," she grumbled, tugging her hand free of his fingers. She settled back onto her armored shins, dropping a little in height from when she'd been raised up onto her knees. "I'm protective, as you well know."

"Indeed, I am aware of that," Solas agreed, watching her carefully. "I am still glad you were swayed from going the route of templar, in the name of being my protector."

"I'm protective of... everyone," the warrior nodded stiffly, looking down at her gloved hands, folded stiffly together on her thighs. "But you, the one I..." her face darkened, just a little, and he'd have missed it if he hadn't been watching her so carefully.

"...Yes?" he prompted gently, when she seemed likely to simply lapse into an awkward, stiff silence.

" _I want to take care of you,_ " Alleyana said it in one rush, clenching her crooked, broken hands together and clamping her jaw shut at the end, her embarrassment as plain as day. Solas stared at her, brow furrowing. She only grew increasingly, visibly uncomfortable at his silence, and Solas leaned forward to lift her clenched hands carefully, cradling them in his until she looked up. Her expression was... open, vulnerable; terrified. It made pain bloom in his chest, and throat, and -- oddly -- in the palms of his hands.

"Then you may do so," he said softly, peeling her hands apart from each other and rubbing his thumbs over her leather-covered knuckles in an attempt to soothe away some of her tension. "Provided... I may do the same in return?"

She looked so conflicted, suddenly... but Solas didn't take it back. He just held onto her hands and waited; it was his turn to be patient, still, and intent, as she so often was. Alleyana's mouth opened, jaw working a little for a moment... and then it closed again, wordless, like she couldn't figure out how to respond. It occurred to Solas that the idea of being taken care of was probably as foreign to her as it was to him.

Her gaze dropped first, and shifted to the side. "...If you really wish to."

"Of course I do," it surprised him much less than it did her; he was a healer, after all. And, once, many more than one lone elf had been in his care. But... this wasn't like that. This was more personal. "If I can stay on the floor," he added, seeing her glance over at the basin, "that should not bother me nearly so much as before."

"The water's barely better than warm, now," Alleyana noted, extracting her hands from his to pull the basin over. She started to tug a glove off, and Solas interrupted the motion, cupping her hand in his.

"May I?" he wanted to touch, examine; feel her bare hands... but only if she wanted him to. No one would wear gloves as constantly as she did if their hands were not an issue for them.

"Go ahead," Alley's voice was barely audible, but there it was. Solas drew her hand close, examining it once more through the soft leather. He tugged the glove's edge down over the back of her hand, slow enough that she could stop him easily. His gaze rested on shiny scar-tissue, more than he'd paid attention to before. It looked like...

He paused, just before her damaged, sharp knuckles, staring at the scarring. "More was done here than the use of a brick," he said softly, and glanced up at her face. Her expression was closed, guarded.

"...Yeah," she was tense, and it showed in her face and voice, even if her hand remained limp in his grasp. Solas hesitated. "Go ahead," she slanted her gaze away from his. "If you really want to get a good look, I..." the warrior trailed off, and then shut her eyes when he lifted the back of her hand to his mouth, ghosting over shiny, sleek scarring. He lingered on a small, circular remnant of a long-ago puncture wound. One of several he could already see, just on the back of one hand.

"You were tortured," he said quietly, lips moving against that damaged skin, "more than once."

"They're a... an obvious target," she responded haltingly, and Solas was intrigued to notice that her face was slowly flushing. Curious and just a touch mischievous, he touched the very tip of his tongue to her skin, and traced a short line with it. " _\--Sh... shit_ ," Alleyana covered her face with her other hand, shuddering when Solas chuckled softly at her response.

"Do you want me to stop, vhenan?" Gently teasing though the question was, he was serious. If this strange new thing, and its effects, was too intimate...

"Do as you like," the warrior's voice was so quiet he barely heard it, muffled by her own hand on her burning face.

"As you say," Solas tugged the glove further down, dragging the soft leather over her knuckles before pausing to kiss each one, pleased at the way her breath caught and held in her throat. Her skin tasted like clean leather; with how she reacted, he was certain she never took the gloves off for anything other than maintenance. This skin was rarely touched; the nerves supremely sensitive from damage, only accustomed to soft leather gloves that barely moved over her skin once in place.

And now, he was allowed to touch, as well. It was fascinating, and more than a little bit flattering that she permitted him this. He pulled away enough to see what he was doing, tugging the glove carefully down her crooked fingers. Misaligned, once-shattered bone protruded up against dusky skin at odd angles, creating bumps in unexpected places and forcing veins, barely visible with her skin tone, to route strangely in spots.

It was a wonder her fingers had even healed in a way that could still be put to use, although he suspected she'd taken an active interest in that during the bone-knitting process. She couldn't have straightened them properly, no, but just enough to function? Certainly. And he knew Alleyana had the willpower to endure it. If he concentrated, he could almost pinpoint the spots she'd had to take action on, bones broken a second, even a third time, set, splinted...

Once he'd removed the glove and let it drop to the floor beside her gauntlets, he turned her hand over in his, noting the way her tendons flexed and shifted differently. Too tight, but also not tight enough, in some ways, their strength wasted past a certain flex point. Fine motor control was all but lost. He realized in a strangely detached way that he'd never seen her handwriting, and found himself wondering if she could still even hold a quill. Her nails were clean, trimmed down to the quick; the better to fit into her gloves.

Solas glanced up from his close examination, realizing he'd been lingering in silence for a while. He noticed that she'd lowered her free hand from her face, and pain lanced through him again at the way she was staring down at her lap; expression resigned and... waiting. Waiting for him to react poorly, undoubtedly. Waiting for him to recoil, or drop her hand, or make a sound of disgust. Her hands were gruesome, some would even say monstrous, and certainly, many would claim them frightening; not him.

He bent her wrist and then his neck, placing a kiss in the middle of her palm. The circular scars on the back of her hand were echoed here. Driven through with nails, if he had to guess. It really _was_ a wonder these hands were even half as functional as they were.

Solas could feel her eyes on him; could hear the silence of her held breath. He smiled faintly against her palm and then looked up to catch her eye, his head remaining bowed. "Thank you," the mage said against her palm, "for allowing me this."

Alleyana's eyes stayed locked with his for a moment, before her gaze shifted away, radiating awkwardness. She muttered something his ears couldn't catch, and he smiled a little wider into her palm. After a moment, he withdrew and let her take her wrist back from his gentle grasp, before reaching for her other, still-gloved hand. The process was repeated, save for the kiss to her palm; the Anchor glared up at him when he turned her hand over in his, as green as any rift, a reminder of all the things he wasn't telling her.

He released her hand, sobered at the reminder, but his thoughts were swiftly derailed once more when she raised both bare hands to cup his face, the touch absolutely, painfully hesitant. "May I?" she asked, much as he had, and Solas nodded, finding that it was suddenly _his_ turn to hold his breath. Her fingertips -- sensitive, scarred, unused to touch -- drifted over his temples, onto his forehead; lingered, curious, at the scar above his eye, rubbing to feel the texture of it.

"Your skin's even softer than it looks," Alleyana said quietly, distracted, sounding like she was thinking out loud. Her fingertips traced gently down his nose; flared out over his cheeks. Solas shut his eyes obligingly when her touch skated near them, letting her linger, stroking over his eyelids, side to side, back and forth, before drifting delicately over his eyelashes on the way back down to his cheeks. "You're so beautiful," her voice was so faint, so quiet, he was _sure_ she hadn't meant to speak aloud, and the way her fingers froze against his cheekbones a few heartbeats later proved it.

Was she afraid that his masculinity would be threatened? Or perhaps she was simply terrified at having expressed such an opinion at all. Either way, the only thing he minded was how panic clearly clawed at her for saying it. Solas blinked his eyes back open to look at her, and found himself smiling again. "Thank you," he repeated, and he started to lean forward, planning to kiss her---

Her fingers found his lips, halting him.

Alleyana's gaze drifted down, and fixed on his mouth as she explored his lips with the pads of her fingertips, stroking over the soft skin in apparent fascination. She remained there for just as long as she'd lingered on his eyelids, before skating outward, tracing up along the line of his jaw, and then up, over his ears, just as fascinated by their long, sharp shape as a human might be. Solas found his eyes sliding closed again, lulled by the warmth of her bare skin and careful, gentle exploration. He realized it was quite possible she'd never dared to touch someone else this way in her entire life, elven or otherwise. There was an unmistakable intimacy in touching another person's face like this, perhaps even more for someone whose hands were always covered.

That, too, was flattering. And... in a way, it was also humbling. He wasn't worthy, not with so many heavy secrets he kept from her, but she gave her trust to him anyway, unknowing. They both saw more of the other than either showed the rest of the world, for better or for worse; he only wished he dared to make it equal. The idea of exposing all to her... he feared it only a little more than he longed for it.

"I..." Alleyana hesitated, and then slowly withdrew her hands. Solas could feel that she didn't want to stop, but she'd set herself a task, after all, and it was one that required her hands. "Can you heat the water back up?" she asked, after a moment.

"Of course," Solas re-opened his eyes yet again, and leaned forward to channel his magic into the basin when she pulled it a bit closer for him, focusing on fire and heat until the water was pleasantly hot once more, if not quite back to steaming.

The warrior shifted on her armored knees, and then reached for the nearer of his legs. The woven leggings he wore beneath his trousers were easy to shift out of the way, sliding halfway up his calf after slipping his heel past the strap that kept them in place. Solas watched her as she lowered his foot into the hot water, his knee bending to accommodate her as he slumped further down against the front of the couch. She dug knowing fingers into the spots in the arch that hurt the worst, just firm enough to relieve the built-up pressure, gradually setting muscle and tendon back to rights. The heat seeped in around and _through_ her hands, sending a tiny shiver down his spine; the swamp had been very cold and miserable.

"...How is it that you are so skilled at this?" he asked around the exhausted fog that was already flooding back into his mind as his body relaxed further and further. A twinge of pain shot up his leg, and then receding entirely as she kneaded near his heel.

"My mother taught me the basics," Alleyana replied without looking up from her task. "When I was very little, just like she taught me the basics of fighting. The two are... related. Then I had to do it to myself... as much as it works on one's self, long after she was gone. It helped me stay in fighting condition."

She rotated his ankle, submerged in the hot water, one hand under his lower calf in support while she felt out the stiffness in the joint. A pop, felt more than heard, had her pressing in on the surrounding tissue like _so_ , and Solas' eyes slipped shut at the surge of relief that followed. "And then I had to use it on my brother, when he was very little," she continued absently, "he always... attracted trouble. Which wasn't his fault, he just... we Tabris have a reputation in the alienages for being a bit... uppity; not being properly downtrodden. More than one human noble has learned respect for the short blade because of a Tabris. He wasn't quite the spitfire our cousin Shianni is, but... maybe he would have been someday."

Solas found his eyes sliding open again, and he watched her in silence for a long moment as she worked. "...You don't speak of your brother very oten," he said, finally. He knew that it was a sensitive topic, and so he broached it carefully, now, and only with this opening she'd presented. "Cole mentioned templars, that one time. Was he a mage?"

"Yeah," Alleyana didn't look up, "he drew symbols and circles in chalk, charcoal, whatever he could get ahold of. All over the alienage. One day, they... lit up. All of them. White light all over... the templars came soon after. I tried to keep him safe, of course, but..." her hands went still on his foot, memory too thick to work through. "Too many people knew who'd drawn those glyphs. And they were all terrified. He was _so_ young, and they dragged him off in chains like some dangerous beast, screaming for me the whole while."

"I am sorry," Solas' gaze shifted away, his thoughts dark and brooding.

The warrior resumed massaging, "I know he was taken to the Fereldan Circle but... they have no record of an Erynion Tabris. I've checked, since becoming the Inquisitor. Not even a record of admitting him into their ranks, let alone of apprenticeship or his Harrowing. For all intents and purposes he... vanished, like a puff of smoke. He was too young to have escaped."

"You think they killed him?" Solas blinked, brow furrowing a little. Even as he asked it, however, he knew the answer.

"Would that be surprising?" Alleyana's ruined voice was pitched low and dark, "Rebellious little boy with a big mouth and blooming magical talent? Elven, too, so no one with any actual influence would be asking after him later? I wager he wouldn't be the first in such a situation to not make it to the Circle."

"I agree," he sighed, and then found himself distracted as she lifted his foot out of the water and worked on patting it dry with a towel that had been hanging on the side of the basin. She set his foot down and reached for the other, to start anew. "You... intend to do both feet?"

"Of course," Alleyana quirked an eyebrow at him, even as she slipped his legging up his calf. "Is that a problem?"

"Only if you wish for me to stay awake," Solas chuckled softly, and then hissed in a soft breath through his teeth as she submerged his foot in the hot water, fingers pressing, seeking. She found the first twinge in his arch, and guided it out, relief flooding in in its place.

"I don't mind if you doze off," she shrugged, "I can move you even if you're asleep."

"Is that so?" the mage was relieved to have a new topic of discussion. "I am not exactly light, nor particularly short..." and in truth, Solas didn't doubt she could move him. The real question was, how easily? Surely, not with such ease that he wouldn't stir if he'd dozed off.

"Just for that, I'll have to prove it even if you're awake," she scoffed at him, even as she wrung aches and pains out of his foot with knowing fingers. The water was cooling, but she'd switched his feet before it lost too much heat, and as the massage gradually changed from corrective to soothing, he could feel his eyelids growing heavier.

"...I shall have to remain awake, then," another smile tugged at Solas' lips, watching her from beneath half-closed eyelids, "to observe."

Alleyana glanced up at him, and paused for a few seconds, staring, before resuming kneading and massaging his sore foot. It made Solas think of something else to ask her, and he wiped at his eyes to try to banish some of his exhaustion before speaking. "You watch me... often," he began cautiously, "you have said I bring you peace. But I often get the feeling I am being studied, and I have heard what Iron Bull thinks of your mind."

One day, while they'd both been accompanying the taciturn elven warrior on an outing, Iron Bull had turned his Ben-Hassrath training fully onto their leader during a meeting with local villagers. His comments afterwards had been... interesting, if also a touch disturbing. She lacked the formal training, he'd said, but if she'd been born among his people... she would have likely been Ben-Hassrath like him.

The result was that Solas felt her studying him even more keenly, now. If she had the natural makings of a spy, what insights -- what secrets -- did she glean from watching him?

"I've always been like that," Alleyana nodded, and finally lifted his foot from the water, supporting it with one hand while she reached for the towel with the other. "It made me good for security in Denerim. Muscle is one thing, but muscle who notices things? Who can be trusted to stand watch competently? Much more valuable."

"That is not quite an answer," Solas noted, gently.

"You didn't really ask a question," the warrior pointed out, dry amusement briefly tugging at a corner of her mouth. She never really smiled, not fully.

"Very well," he sat up a little straighter when she set his foot down, loosely folding his legs. "What do you see, when you study me?"

Alleyana folded the towel she'd used to pat his feet dry, and hung it back on the edge of the basin, just above the water. "Cole was right," she said, finally, "there's a lot of sadness in you. Quiet, old, but that just makes it sadder. The roots go _so_ deep and you're just... so used to them being there. You've grown around it; through it. You wouldn't even know what to do if it was somehow eased free of you."

Solas stared at her in thoughtful silence, but she wasn't completely done. The warrior pushed the basin off to the side again, and then looked up, catching his eye. "At the risk of sounding even more like Cole," she said quietly, "I... I hope I help."

The mage leaned forward, scooping up her bare hands in his. They twitched, and she tensed for a second, but she didn't protest. "You do," his reply was soft, his eyes not leaving hers, "more than you could possibly know."

"But... I make you sadder, too," Alleyana said, brow furrowing very faintly, "I haven't been able to figure out why, yet."

Solas merely lifted her hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. He couldn't quite bring himself to lie so directly as to deny her statement, but he wouldn't dare to clarify for her, either.

"...We've all got our secrets, I suppose," Alleyana said after a moment of watching him, distracted by his hands and mouth on her fingers. "Come on," she tugged free of his hold, and then lunged forward. Her weight on one knee, the other metal and leather boot planting in front of her for leverage, she stooped down in her kneel, one arm snaking between him and the couch and the other beneath his folded legs. Solas made a startled, undignified sound as she lurched _up_ with a grunt of effort, and the world surged down. Suddenly, he was no longer on the floor at all, his feet dangling, her arm scooped up beneath his knees.

He grabbed onto her shoulders reflexively, and then laughed quietly, breathless, as she carried him over to the bed. She was far stronger than he'd realized, although carrying him was clearly not an _easy_ task. Still, there was a wry smirk on her lips, and he was glad to see it.

Solas kept his grip on her shoulders, and made sure to drag her down with him when she set him on the covers, not about to let her go sleep on her sofa as he knew she'd planned. She toppled half on top of him, over-balanced, her arms on either side of his shoulders holding her up. The smirk vanished, her eyes going wide.

"Come, rest with me," Solas squeezed her shoulders through the leather and maille covering them. "I know you are weary as well."

She looked conflicted, and he wondered if he'd inadvertently crossed some hidden boundary. Eventually, she nodded, and lifted one hand to the clasps on her armored jacket. Once the sharp and jutting breastplate came loose from the heavy leather, Solas took it for her and dropped it off the side of the bed.

Finally, she allowed Solas to tug her down against his side to rest, one bare hand curled against the center of his chest. Exhaustion flooded back in once more, now that they were both comfortably situated, and it wasn't long at all before both had dozed off.


End file.
